


Substitute

by Augustus



Category: NSYNC, Popslash
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-09-09
Updated: 2003-09-09
Packaged: 2018-03-12 01:19:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3338699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Augustus/pseuds/Augustus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris is tempted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Substitute

“Make love to me.”

You stare at Justin, speechless for once.

He steps forward, smiling with bright, fifteen-year-old confidence, and wraps his arms around your waist. “You’re my best friend, Chris,” he says simply. “I want it to be you.”

His embrace is hot and suffocating. You feel as though you may never be able to move again. 

Justin’s lips are soft and clumsy as they meet your own. You know that you should pull away, but there is a part of you that leaps and glitters with the wonder of it all. Justin’s body fits neatly against your own, just like it has always done, although this time the embrace is tainted by your own desire.

You want to say yes. You’ve never wanted anything more in your life.

You think that, maybe, you might just be a little bit in love with Justin. There are days when you forget his age and spend warm, drawn-out minutes daydreaming about the smooth glow of his skin and the way that his eyes grow wide and transparent whenever he’s excited or overwhelmed. Justin’s not as tough or as fearless as he wants the world to believe and you hope that you’ll able to protect him, even if only a little, from the worst of the world’s darkness.

Justin moans, the sound soft and frustrated, as you gently push him away. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are dark and thickly hooded by the immediacy of his want. He has never looked so pretty, has never looked so fragile.

You have to turn away.

“Please.”

Justin’s breath is dry and distracting against the back of your neck and his voice is low and desperate. You wonder when he turned into this novice provocateur, full of youthful enthusiasm and pent-up sexuality. You force yourself to breathe.

Justin is hard and hypnotising against the side of your thigh, his mouth demanding as it presses wet kisses to the sensitive flesh of your neck. Guiltily and unwillingly, you picture him naked in your bed and glowing with blissful discovery, a pliant and eager collection of sickening perfection.

“You’re too young,” you say finally and you can barely recognise your own voice. “You should wait for someone special.”

“You’re someone special,” Justin argues blithely, sliding against you in an insidious rhythm of pleading and power. “And I’m not too young.”

“You are.” You feel as though you’re speaking through the cloying sleep-mist of a dream. “Don’t be so damn eager to grow up, Justin.”

He shakes his head, unheeding, and pulls you around to kiss you again. His tongue presses almost violently against your own and you want this – want _him_ – so much that your breath burns within your lungs and you quiver beneath the ardent emotion of the moment.

You resist.

Justin pouts at you with swollen lips and runs one long finger down the curve of your cheek. “Why not?” he asks finally.

“Because you deserve better,” you tell him, and you believe in it so deeply that you let him walk away.

* * * * *

The next morning, JC and Justin won’t meet each other’s gaze and Justin’s movements are filled with a liquid sexuality that wasn’t so evident the night before. 

Justin’s eyes are old and shadowed and his neck is smudged with faded bruises. He watches you silently and you feel as though you can read an accusation in his glance. The moment smells like confrontation. You feel as though you want to cry.

Justin eats his cereal and pretends to be content. JC picks at his toast and casts surreptitious glances at the door. You pour yourself a cup of coffee and close your eyes as the heat twists its way into your stomach. It burns.

* * * * *

“I wanted it to be you.” Justin glares balefully at you across the room, his tone peevish and his mouth tight. 

“I wanted you to wait,” you reply, aching for the warm circle of his arms around your waist. 

He remains motionless. “I’m not a kid.”

Your heart breaks. “I know.”

Justin’s glare collapses and suddenly your lap is filled with gangly limbs and soft curls. You stroke his hair back from his forehead and press a soft kiss to his temple. “I’m sorry,” you murmur, over and over, as he squirms into your embrace.

He kisses you and you let it happen. He tastes the same.

“I wanted it to be you,” he repeats, his breath warm against your lips. 

“So did I.”

His smile falters. “Oh,” he says quietly, and there is a slight tremble in his voice. He buries his face in the folds of your sweater and wraps his arms around your waist, his eyes drifting closed as you brush careful fingers up and down his neck. He sighs happily and you try not to think of what might have been. 

“I’m sorry,” he mutters finally, eyelashes fluttering as he struggles to hold your gaze.

You force a smile. “Don’t be.” 

He kisses your cheek and slides out of your embrace. “Love you,” he says lightly and leaves you alone with your thoughts and a tabletop covered in crumbs.

You turn away, unable to watch him go.

* * * * *

The porcelain of the toilet bowl is cold and solid beneath your trembling hands. You clutch compulsively at its solidity, heart pounding as you retch again and again, although your stomach is already empty. Acid burns within your throat and your head is a vibrant mosaic of pain. Your thoughts are disconnected and feverish and you pray, inarticulately, for relief.

You have a feeling that you might love him more than you’re willing to admit.

**~fin~  
9th September 2003**


End file.
